


Raising Heck

by Evren Rambunctious (DHume)



Series: Flaming Darkly [1]
Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Gratui
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-02-29
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:12:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DHume/pseuds/Evren%20Rambunctious





	1. Chapter 1

China advanced on Valkyrie, sharp instruments winking in the afternoon sunlight that streamed gold through the windows of her Dublin apartment. Her eyes gleamed.

“Hold still, Valkyrie. This won’t hurt a bit.”

Valkyrie knew she was lying.

“You said the last time, and the time before that. Do you - do you think you need glasses?” Valkyrie snapped her head up to meet China’s gaze and for a second China could see fear, real fear in those eyes. Even after over two decades working with, alongside and sometimes for China, Valkyrie still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of mocking her yet.

“You do realise how precise my work is? If I needed glasses I would know immediately - but I have to cut back on pastries. Oh, what sacrifices I have to make for my ocular health. It’s a wonder I picked the Adept discipline I did, it really is.”

“You sound like an older woman.” There was a beat, in which China fancied Valkyrie was imagining all of the ways China was plotting her death.

“That’s because I am, dear. Now, can we stop this circling as if we were common brawlers and will you just _sit down_ , I need to fix the symbol on the left. Some people merely want a randomised face or clean skin to cover their scars, but you - “

“Want a growing and changing facade, yes, I know. I’m a horrible client, you’ve mentioned.” Valkyrie didn’t smile too easily, these days - not with her mouth. China could hear one in her voice now, though.

“Sit, before I make you.”

“ _Fine_.” Still a petulant under-fifty as always, China noted to herself. She remembered her relatives being the same - of course, she hadn’t ever acted in such an undignified way. Remembering her place, China lowered the instruments before the sorcerer in front of her, tunic unfastened to expose the woman’s collarbones, where two finely etched, amazingly detailed symbols faded up from invisibility to the greyed black of tattoos. Immediately China set to work, taking out a fat dewdrop of a jeweller’s lens and taking turns at peering through it and then minutely scratching at the skin of Valkyrie’s neck and chest. Valkyrie looked over China’s shoulder to the sun-bathed Dublin outside her apartment’s windows, breathing slowing dramatically and body growing corpse-still as she watched the sun edge toward the horizon.

“You’re meditating. Is it that painful?”

Valkyrie didn’t answer her immediately, but then again China hadn’t expected her to. She busied herself with correcting and expanding on one of the right symbol’s outer whorls.

“Hmm? Oh no, I just don’t want to distract you. Plus, I wanted to take my mind away. It’s-“

“Boring?” Valkyrie was still looking toward the window, and China hoped that she hadn’t just seen her pull a long and thin pin from just under her collarbone; magically numbed as she was, it would upset the procedure.

“Not at all. I meant that I wanted to think about some… Things, you know. Stuff that’s happening, like.”

“Haven’t sorted out this week’s cover story, have we?”

Valkyrie scowled. “As usual, you hit the nail on the head. Are you joining me?”

“Gods, no.”

“China…”

“I swear I never stop doing things for you, Valkyrie dear.”

There was a stony silence - or at least, stony from Valkryie’s end. China continued tapping away, stopping every so often to brush away crusted dust where a drop of blood had escaped, or excess ink from one of her calligraphic brushes. Eventually, she took a short breath.

“Of course I’m joking.”

Valkyrie let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. “You did promise.”

“That I did. And I don’t break promises - not to people I actually tolerate. The right side’s done, by the way. Drink this and test it.” China handed her a small vial of clear liquid, which Valkyrie inspected before sloshing the liquid around her mouth experimentally and swallowing it.

“That tastes exactly like woodsmoke.”

“Does it? I always thought that it tasted like a funeral pyre. It’s a sealant.”

Valkyrie’s face lightened a shade and she looked at the vial warily.

“It’s not actually made with-“

“No. Though after all you’ve been through, I’m not sure why _that_ of all things would disgust you. It’s made from bark shavings.”

Valkyrie didn’t look too convinced, and replaced the vial on China’s desk, standing up.

“Can I..?”

“Of course.”

Valkryie tapped the symbols under the now-open clasps of her tunic, skin flowing up to her face and displacing what was already there, giving it the air of wrinkles on the skin of milk. It turned the face of a youthful woman just shy of twenty to someone who should have rightly been facing a midlife crisis.

She looked in a nearby mirror.

“Perfect. God, is this what I’d really have looked like? I guess it wouldn’t have come on as suddenly…” She distractedly pulled at her newly-acquired crow’s feet. “How long will it last?”

“The more often you can turn it off the more it can recharge, even if it’s only for a minute at a time. As it is… I’ve improved it, massively. Take bathroom breaks as often as you can and it should be fine. It’s _far_ more complicated than you’ll ever know, but it doesn’t take as much raw power as Skulduggery or Ghastly’s.”

Valkryrie smiled again. China liked to think that it was her presence alone than led to her smiling, these days - but she knew the reality was that most smiles were reserved for her partner, Skulduggery. Also, she seemed to be poking at her face again, and China had to concede that the expression currently gracing her now- baggy features was probably at least due in part to curiosity at her fake mortal face.

China had concocted it one day when she’d overheard a conversation between Valkrie and her mother regarding cosmetics of some stripe or other - China could have saved everyone grief by informing her mother of the obvious fact that her daughter didn’t see the need to wear makeup other than at state functions, but instead she had planned and sketched until she’d come up with a concrete design for a facade that would approximate what Valkyrie’s face would look like if her body’s ageing process hadn’t been stopped in its tracks by the sheer amount of Ancient magic flowing through her veins.

Looking back at Valkyrie, China noticed that she was still poking at her face like a zombie, and suppressed a sigh.

“I’ll be over in Haggard in an hour or so. Do try not to break your face.”

Valkyrie nodded, and left. China didn’t believe in gaudy repetitions of meaningless thanks, and the book that Valkyrie had slipped onto her desk whilst she had been occupied sharpening tools was more than enough, even if she hadn’t mentioned her gratitude earlier. China didn’t like to think that she was a woman who could be bought or placated easily, but also didn’t like to admit to herself that she could be swayed by Miss Cain to domestic acts of kindness and little chats, or that she seemed nowadays to almost know China better than she knew herself. China comforted herself with the thought that after half a millennium, one could be permitted a few lapses into sentimentality.

\-----

Valkyrie stood outside her parent’s house in Haggard, right hand itching absentmindedly at the still-tender marks on her clavicle.It was a nice evening in March, just on the crisp side of temperate, and the dusky sky leant the suburban street a monochrome look which looked oddly morbid. She raised her hand to knock at the wood, and was greeted by her mother’s happy and lined face, smiling at her.

“Stephanie, come in! You’re perfectly on time, dear.”

“Maybe this is when he have to accept that Steph’s finally grown up - when she starts arriving to things without being fashionably late,” a voice floated through from the dining room. Melissa Edgely shook her head, face still beaming. “Des, come in and say hello! You need to stop working, now, our favourite daughter’s come to visit!”

Desmond Edgely appeared through the doorway, waiting until Valkyrie had hung her coat up on the guesthook and stepped through into the course proper before enveloping her in a hug. Valkyrie relaxed into it, careful not to hug him too strongly - he was coming up to sixty, and she was a trained fighter with the body of a woman in their physical prime - but her parents didn’t know that. She held her father’s shoulders, looking almost eye to eye at him and smiling herself. “I thought she was at university?” he asked Melissa, mock annoyance in his voice even as a grin threatened to split his face ear to ear and his eyes glinted. “Who’s this stranger in my house?”

Valkyrie stepped back before answering him. “So you didn’t order this pizza? Damn, I’ll just… Go to… The next house or something…” She hadn’t the heart to finish off that joke, and it fell a little flat, making things between the three of them awkward for a moment before Melissa’s face brightened once more and she shooed Valkyrie and her father back into the dining room. It was yet another reminder about how close her father and she had once been, and how far away - not just geographically - Valkryie had been away from them lately.

“When’s China arriving? You know, that’s such an odd stage name. A little morbid - and so is that Bespoke man’s! I mean, they’re very apt, but don’t you find it a little awkward when you have to sign the ol’ business forms with Stephanie Edgely?”

“Surely the Edgely name is interesting enough on it’s own, right, Stephanie? First Gordon, now you - Alice and Des’ll be breaking world records next!” She laughed. “Come to the kitchen, Stephanie; I can get you some wine, and Des can clear up his horrible records and such.”

Valkyrie followed her, just in time to hear a grumbled “Without these horrible records you wouldn’t have any nice wine, woman, even if you’re the only one who can pick it” from her dad’s side of the room.

The kitchen had hardly changed since Valkryie had moved out, and she had noticed only minimal things that were different each time she had visited since; the medicine cabinet had more bottles in it, the food was healthier, and since her younger sister had gone to uni things like cereals and other junk food had disappeared altogether. As if the absence of the two girls had given her parents more freedom, their belongings seemed to encroach on all the surfaces more, giving the impression that their tidy family home had only been kept up for the sake of their live-in daughters.

Sweeping aside a small stack of torn-out crosswords that her mother saved - ostensibly for Valkyrie, who said that they were for she, China and Ghastly to wile away hours at meetings, but really for Valkyrie to take home to Skulduggery - her mother took two wine glasses out from the cupboard used for ‘posh glassware’ and poured white wine from an already-opened bottle on the countertop, stopping two thirds of the way through filling one and topping it up with water, which she took for herself, passing the full glass to Valkyrie.

Melissa replaced the bottle where she’d found it and leant against the counter by the oven, smiling again as she sipped from her diluted wine - it was a tired smile, pretty much the default expression of her parents nowadays, whose happy life was in sixth decade and without two daughters to raise consisted of muddling along like any other, normal older couple.

Valkyrie felt her face grow hot, and prickle peculiarly and after a little chatter about her job — what the latest order was, how working for a bigshot textiles company was working out; a cover story for Valkyrie’s long term estrangement and irregular family visits, China and Ghastly posed from time to time as her partners and co-workers in the big company that Valkyrie supposedly worked at, providing the style, fashion know how and generally all the expertise Valkyrie herself actually lacked — excused herself, guessing that the facade was in need of a touch up and a reboot. Whilst she checked how she looked, marvelling at how the skin flowed away from her subtly lined face, like paper crumpling in reverse as well as using the loo, washing her hands and reactivating the facade before walking back into the kitchen, her parents seemed to have finished preparations for the small dinner. When she stepped out of the downstairs bathroom, a delicious smell wafted through the air and she glimpsed a debris-free dining room table through the open door, cutlery laid out neatly and the wine plus two extra glasses placed in the middle. Her mother straightened up from where she had been checking the oven when she noticed her.

“We’ve got another ten minutes or so, before the dinner’s ready to be served. You haven’t gone on any diet fads recently, have you? It’s only roast chicken, I’m afraid.”

“What? No, of course I haven’t. I love chicken, that’s fine! Why did you ask?”

“You just look well, is all, I wasn’t insinuating anything-“

“Yes, you were. Don’t listen to her, Valkyrie, she doesn’t love you as much as I do.” Her father walked through, an extra set of cutlery in his hands. He’d forgotten that Alison wouldn’t be joining them, apparently.

A scowl appeared on her mother’s face. “Don’t eavesdrop, Des, it’s rude. And could you put this out on the table - that’s it, I’ll put these knives and forks back.” She gestured toward Valkyrie’s father and exchanged her small jug of flowers for his spare set of cutlery. Valkyrie felt vaguely guilty for not helping them earlier, but it was a bit too late now. She settled for gathering up her and her mother’s glasses of wine and putting them at the top of their places in the dining room, immediately noticing how warm the room was. Even though the kitchen had an oven in it, Valkyrie’s parents always seemed to keep the living room, bedrooms and dining room extra toasty, no matter what the weather - it was enough to give Valkyrie chilblains walking from one place in the house to another, but she supposed they were getting older, and she was only visiting for a few hours anyway. Instead she shouldered off her leather jacket and walked back out to the corridor with the guest hooks, going to put it there with her coat. If she got cold, she could always use her magic to keep her warm, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a rapping at the door. Valkyrie almost dropped her jacket on the floor by the hooks as her instincts took hold and only steadied herself just in time, catching the label with the tips of her fingers. She was always on guard when she visited Haggard, especially when guests weren’t expected at her parents’ house.  
At the last second, Valkyrie remembered herself that she was the one who had invited China along to this visit to Haggard. Since she was the only one out the of three of them who understood female fashion beyond timeless class and the intricacies of its construction (on Ghastly’s end) and something that had to be worn now and again for the sake of keeping up appearances (on Valkyrie’s end), she tended to be roped into dinner parties and family visits more often than Ghastly whenever Valkyrie thought her job and adult life would be called into question.  
When one needs to construct an elaborate lie, one always calls in the experts.  
Her parents hadn’t seemed to have heard the knocking at the door and so none of them immediately called out for the other to “go get it before China gets cold,” or appeared in the corridor. Valkyrie deactivated the facade and greeted China with a smooth face, letting the chilled air cool her now bare, strong arms even more.  
China had obviously seen the occasion of visiting her parents fitting enough to dress in one of her even less casual than usual outfits. The dress with the subtly puffed sleeves oozed professional style, and even though a paper bag would have looked like the height of gorgeous fashion once it graced China’s frame, Valkryie appreciated how her outfit made her, impossibly, more beautiful than usual.  
She was dressed to impress.  
Valkyrie looked into those pale blue eyes, and saw a hint of -guilt? Amusement? - there at being caught out.  
“Behave,” she said, in a low voice so that her parents wouldn’t hear.  
“As if I would do anything less than act impeccably, Valkyrie.”  
“You look lovely, by the way. Come in.” China nodded, and, stepping over the threshold, stopped to examine her fingernails, as if for dirt.  
“Those protection symbols are working as well as ever, I see. What’s for dinner?”  
“No pastries, so don’t worry. Just chicken and veg, that stuff.”  
China flicked her eyebrows up in amusement.  
“How considerate.” Raising her voice slightly above normal so that it would carry through to Valkyrie’s parents, she added, “Mr. and Mrs. Edgely, good evening! Thank you for inviting me over tonight.” Valkyrie reactivated the facade and they walked back through to the dining room. China hadn’t brought a coat. She never did.  
Her parents were standing around relaxedly, sipping their watery wine - but when China came into view, standing by Valkyrie near the dining room’s threshold, Valkyrie saw them stiffen minutely. Valkyrie’s mother straightened her posture and her father seemed to suck his stomach in the exact same way Valkyrie had seen Gordon do many times before, but other than that there was no reaction. Valkyrie approved.  
“I’m sorry I’m late - we had business to attend to. Someone ruined the last order’s delivery…” China let herself trail off, the picture of a high-powered business woman. She tutted, and then moved toward Valkyrie’s parents, hugging each of them in turn and exchanging pleasantries and greetings before being presented with a glass of -neat- wine.  
“Dinner’s ready now, everyone! Sit at the table, I’ll dish up,” Valkyrie’s mother called, moving once more off to the kitchen.  
Valkyrie and China took their places on the left side of the family’s dining room table whilst Valkryie’s father sat on the right, helping her mother to ensure that everyone had a healthy portion on their plates.  
Valkyrie had once believed that China would be one of those women who never ate in the company of others, or was simply too glamourous for regular meals. In fact, the opposite was true. As someone who lived alone and was neither insecure about their looks or someone who led an inactive lifestyle, China always ate portions as big as anyone else’s, as long as the food being served was up to her standards.  
And Melissa Edgely was a great cook.  
After they’d finished eating and were either sipping at their wine or mopping up the last of the food on their plates, the conversation between the four of them turned to focus on Valkyrie and her work, as it usually and unavoidably did every visit.  
China managed to field most of the textiles and work-related questions, as she normally did - Valkyrie tended to act like her father used to, with the same air of ‘I’m very good at what I do but for god’s sake don’t ask me about it’ that he used to exude whenever well-meaning strangers at family reunions used to try and ingratiate themselves with him. Luckily, this evening her usual approach held.  
The evening took a turn for the worse as they finished the slivers of cheesecake Melissa had bought from a local bakery and their second glasses of wine. Made bold by the unthinned wine or possibly just frustrated by Valkyrie’s laconic answers to their questions about her work life, both of Valkyrie’s parents seemed to simultaneously decide that today was the day they wanted to micromanage their eldest daughter’s marriage prospects.  
“This cheesecake is delicious. We should really tell Mrs. Agnew thank you! I hope she makes more,” Valkyrie’s mother said, as she put her fork down on the plate with all the finality of a gavel at a murder trial. The previous conversation about the well being of certain residents of Haggard had wound down with the amount of cake consumed, and China had taken the opportunity to withdraw from the conversation and excuse herself to make a quick call. She hated familial small talk.  
“Stephanie, have you spoken to Alison lately?” she continued. “She’s found herself a new boyfriend - he seems like a dreadful character, all New Agey and violent, too.”  
“I blame video games,” her father commented from the other side of the table, face sleepy. Valkyrie’s mother nodded.  
Valkyrie felt the small smile she’d been wearing all evening downturn. “Actually, he’s not new age. He’s just a vegan. And he’s not violent - he kickboxes. As a sport. He’s on the team at her uni.”  
Her mother made a face that was two parts understanding and one part disbelief.  
“I didn’t get a good impression, that’s all - and how about you, hmmm?”  
Valkyrie felt herself freeze.  
“Yes, daughter dearest. If you’re not going to supply us with grandchildren, you can just come out and say it, you know. We’ll just beat Alice over the head until she settles down to have little baby kickboxers, or whatever,” her father added. Valkyrie tried furiously not to blush.  
She suspected that he’d had more wine than she’d thought he had.  
The look on her mother’s face immediately turned to one of concern.  
“We don’t expect you to be settling down just yet, Stephanie. Don’t worry. But… How is your life, these days? Any special _people_ in it?” Valkyrie’s face went from flushed to cold when she noticed her mother trying to look toward the door where China had disappeared through surreptitiously.  
She realised she was going to have to tread carefully.  
“Actually, mum, it’s just complicated at the moment, really -“ Yeah, give her false hope, Valkyrie thought to herself savagely, you _idiot_ \- “I mean, work doesn’t leave much time for anything! I wouldn’t neglect to visit you lot if it didn’t. I really miss you guys, you know.” Well enough managed, she thought. Her mother nodded, and leant forward.  
“Because, you know, we wouldn’t mind if, ah, you had met someone? And maybe didn’t want us to meet them? I’m sure as long as they don’t kickbox for a living, we’d be delighted to make their acquaintance. Unless we’ve already met…?”  
God, wasn’t her mother being terribly unsubtle. The irony was that if Valkyrie did end up finding a partner any time soon, they would definitely be the sort to kickbox and more - everyone Valkyrie knew flashed through her mind, in a sort of gross montage of violent sparring and yes, lots of kicking and punching.  
Fortunately, China took this opportunity to sweep back into the room.  
“Stephanie, dear, we’ve had another large contract from the March client - isn’t that wonderful?” China summoned a look of graceful delight onto her face and sat down once more, taking the time to carefully and deliberately place her hand on Valkyrie’s.  
Ah, that explained the perfect timing. Once again, Valkyrie was in awe at China’s ability to seemingly manipulate any situation without effort, and thought privately that if China had decided to take telepathy up as an Adept discipline rather than her symbols, she would be ruling the world right now. She could certainly see why she’d been such a charismatic leader of fanatical cults, and such.  
Valkyrie made sure to leave her hand long enough for it to be noticeable before shifting it, shifting her entire body toward China’s and letting a look of exaggerated relish flood her face.  
“That’s brilliant! We can talk about it later - I don’t want to bore Mum and Dad.” She gave her what she hoped looked like a meaningful look from her parent’s point of view, and China returned it; although Valkyrie’s had been more one of ‘I am pretending to know what a March client is and what I want with one,’ China’s look was more in the line of ‘you and I are going to have a very long talk in an hour or so, and you won’t like much of it’.  
Seemingly satisfied by their apparent display of subdued couple-ness, Valkyrie’s parents let the conversation wind down to a near standstill and didn’t even protest when China made a great show about checking the elegant timepiece on her thin wrist and exclaiming regretfully that they really _must dash_ , and how _wonderful_ it had all been, but they needed to clear things up. After a long goodbye, China and Valkyrie left the house and walked to where China’s assistant had driven up, idling at the kerb. They got in.  



	3. Chapter 3

Valkyrie was silent in the car, sitting in the back seat with her coat folded over the other side. China sat in front and her assistant drove. 

“Your parents were delightful. They seemed to like me. Unsurprising, really, but they didn’t even flinch at the little stunt you pulled with the hands.” China didn’t look behind her into the car as she spoke. “You’re leading them on.”

“The stunt _I_ pulled?” Valkyrie answered, snorting as she aimed a half-hearted glare at the back of China’s glossy dark head. “I didn’t lead them on. All I did was let _you_ point out the existence of the path that they happily trotted down in Assumptions About Our Daughter Lane.”

“Oh, bringing out the extended metaphors now are we, Valkyrie? Tsk, tsk. You sound twenty again.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes even though there was no one beside her to witness it. 

“What I mean is that they were all happy to assume everything on their own part - you know they’ve thought we were together for a while.”

“I’d noticed, yes,” China replied dryly. “Thanks for deigning to inform me about my imaginary attachments - I do appreciate it ever so.”

“What I mean,” Valkyrie carried on, bulldozing over the tide of snark that threatened to fill the car, “Was that they pretty much assumed I spent most of my time in Dublin’s gay district or whatever, because of the reflection. I was,” here she paused, touching her right index finger to each finger on her left hand as if checking off a list, “distant toward them, I didn’t connect at school, moved out as soon as possible, I don’t talk about my friends and colleagues much save you and Ghastly, and I never confide in them. To be honest, I’m glad they didn’t go the other route and assume I was a teenage drug baron, to be honest.”

China hmmm-ed in front of her. “You forgot the lack of interest in any of Haggard’s most eligible bachelors, or anyone at your college or work.”

“That too,” Valkyrie agreed, before her brain caught up with her and realised what she was saying. She hastily amended with, “for obvious reasons.”

“Of course,” China said with a sideways tilt of her head and a too-neutral tone. 

They settled into a comfortable silence, China’s assistant expertly navigating the dark lanes on the way to Gordon’s mansion. 

China drew in a small breath. “Or, you realise, you could introduce Skulduggery.”

Valkyrie responded almost before the words were out of China’s mouth. 

“No. No, absolutely not.”

China’s voice was silken. “Why ever not? He’s more available to come to your little placatory meetings with your mortal family, he’s -“

“No. His name is familiar, his build is familiar, my parents have seen him before and my family know who he is because my uncle made it his business ten years ago to warn my family of him, not to mention he has a bloody _skull instead of a head-“_

“My my, we have rehearsed this.”

“Don’t be patronising, China. What makes you think it would be a feasible thing to do?”

“Facades can be adjusted. Fake names can be given. I’m sure whilst nowhere near as charming, intelligent or handsome a specimen as me, your conservative parents would be far more likely to leave you alone if he attended a few get togethers under the guise of some dull businessman or other.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a brilliant strategist, China.” Valkyrie sighed. “Look, my parents aren’t stupid. They met Skulduggery at a wake, and while it was years ago, I doubt they’re going to forget it - he was my uncle, for god’s sake. He’s my dad’s brother, and my mum’s ex-boyfriend. They were close, and he was at the will reading, which I don’t think they’ll forget any time soon, either. I may as well ask someone else to help me, if you’re that opposed to it. Ghastly, maybe.”

In the front mirror Valkyrie could see a little frown crinkle the delicate skin of China’s forehead. 

“Valkyrie, this was never the problem. I admit that I prefer my life of a well read, well dressed shut in to that of a stressed fashion industry mortal, but I’m not that eager to wriggle out of my duties. What kind of a friend would I be?”

Over the last twenty years Valkyrie had heard China use the word ‘friend’ sincerely only a dozen or so times, and she sensed that China was trying to manipulate her. 

“Valkyrie, I just think that it would be better for everyone. Closer to the truth, maybe. I know you have qualms about lying to people, and all that.”

Valkyrie snorted. 

“Closer to the truth? What are you implying? He’s no more my boyfriend than you are my girlfriend, China. I think you of all people should have noticed that. It would be just as much of a lie as what I tell them at the moment, and a disaster waiting to happen!” In the back seat she folded her arms, the good mood from the evening evaporating. 

“Well, whatever you say, Valkyrie. I think this conversation’s getting rather circular and I _do_ hate wasting words. Where do you want to be dropped off?”

“Where do you think?” Valkyrie snapped. “Gordon’s.” She instantly regretted it. “Sorry, that wasn’t needed. I know I don’t stay there as much as a should.”

“No problem,” China replied in a cool tone. Valkyrie cursed herself for being rude to her - she had come to visit her parents after all, which to the misanthropic bookworm must have been highly irritating. And now she was snapping at her!

“No, I really am sorry,” Valkyrie insisted. “I appreciate your visiting the Swiss Family Edgely - we must be terribly boring and saccharine.”

“You hit the nail on the head. Think nothing of it, though. I’m just that selfless.”

“Fine, I won’t,” Valkyrie said, jokingly. China laughed. 

“I don’t think I’d ever be suited to the silent hero, actually. How tedious, never taking credit for your deeds.” In the passenger seat, she mock shuddered, and just like that the tension between them eased. As the car reached the end of Gordon’s driveway and stopped Valkyrie got out and walked round to the front of the car. She leant into the open window to hug China goodbye, batting away her protests and waving arms. 

“Thanks again for coming over, China.” China made the tiniest of faces, like an impossibly well-behaved toddler’s microtantrum.

“I mean it,” Valkyrie added warningly. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

She walked back in front of the car and toward Gordon’s - never hers, especially since Gordon now had a voice-activated trolley that brought him from room to room and was now more an omnipresent lodger than a forgotten memory - house and disarmed the extensive wards around its foundations, never looking back as she heard China’s assistant pull away into the early night. Finally, she let herself in with an old-fashioned lock. Some sorcerers were arrogant about the threat of mortal attack. Valkyrie called it Voldemort Syndrome in her head, or to Gordon; ever since Moore and Batu all those years ago, she had vowed not to fall victim to it. 

Calling out to Gordon to let him know she was home, Valkyrie let her coat drop onto the kitchen table and flicked on some of the manual lights overhead. She was still hungry. Valkyrie had once looked up how much food she ate and realised that she lived the lifestyle of a professional rugby player, regular medical assistance and all. Eating the same amount of food earlier as two older mortals with slow metabolisms just didn’t cut it.

Consistent with Valkyrie’s mood, there was nothing in the fridge. She swore, just in time to see Gordon’s stone-and-cradle come zooming in on the small track that moved around the house. Due to its size and the cart’s speed, it took him a while to move around, but he loved it all the same. Valkyrie just wished that when she had installed it, she had thought not to inset it at the perfect height on the wall to bump her head into.

“How were your parents, then?” Gordon asked, a worried expression on his face. Even though the Echo Stone had given him a second life he hadn’t been able to tell his brother and his wife that he was alive, and Valkyrie tried not to mention them too often now that the years had taken their toll. Soon she would be as much of a ghost in their lives as he was - unchanging and always there even as they grew, changed and passed away. Her face echoed his. 

“They were fine, you know. Nagged me about Alice, about Haggard gossip. Mum thinks Alice is dating a serial killer.”

“Is she?” Gordon’s expression was one of absolute curiousity, with not a sarcastic eyebrow or joking eyetwinkle in sight. He was just as odd as her father, Valkyrie knew. 

“No, he’s on his uni’s kickboxing team.”

“Pity.”

“Hmm,” Valkyrie replied, opening another few cupboards and looking to see if she’s remembered to buy bran. Gordon saw her looking.  

“You don’t have any food here,” he said with a smile. “You told me to remind you.”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes at the empty cupboard, shut its doors, and turned back to him grumpily. 

“It’s too late to remind me now, isn’t it? Everywhere is shut.”

“Don’t blame me! You didn’t say _when_ to remind you. Besides, you’re the one with the stomach. You should be the one keeping track of things.”

This must be her atonement. Spending eternity with smart aleks who didn’t need to remember their groceries. Gordon noticed how angry she seemed to be as she finally slammed the last cupboard door she checked in vain. 

“Is everything all right? You seem more upset than you have any right to be if you’ve just had your mother’s cooking. That stuff is _delicious_ , if I remember right.”

“Everything’s fine, Gordon,” Valkyrie muttered. Hearing a cough and looking up Valkyrie was greeted with a disbelieving face floating inches from her own, eyebrows raised. She sighed. 

“They’re being all mortal-y again.”

“Go on?”

“They’re asking me if I want to settle down yet, you know. Have kids, stuff like that. They wanted to know if I had a partner, and though China was there and deflected some of their questions, she and I argued afterward anyway.”

The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she got, Valkyrie realised. Angry at her parents for prying, angry at herself for not valuing the little time she had left with them, angry with China’s incessant matchmaking and then angry _again_ at herself for being uncharitable.

“I need food or I’ll be angry all day,” Valkyrie said, straightening up and walking over the table where her keys and coat were. “I’m going to Skulduggery’s. He’ll probably have some. Is that all right?”

Gordon floating upwards, looking bemused. “All right. See you around, then - hope you get your moods sorted out.”

Valkyrie shouldered her coat on. 

“Do you need me to pick anything up from you? Send mail to your publishers or something? Any DVDs?”

Gordon shook his head, shooing her with his hands, which were floating just about her eye level. The effect tipped him over and he overbalanced comically slowly, falling with nothing to stop him until he realised there was nothing to make him fall and he straightened up self-conciously. 

“I’ll be fine. Now go and get fed.”

Valkyrie left the house to the sound of the cradle cart’s whirring.


	4. Chapter 4

Valkyrie zipped along the main road and indicated her bike’s lights, turning into the residential street where Skulduggery’s house was. As soon as she had come of age Valkyrie had bought herself a nice bike - nothing fancy or something to take pride in like Tanith’s beloved motor, but small and fast enough to be more convenient than using magic or waiting for a lift. It was small enough to compact in the Bentley’s boot and was a nice shade of cherry red. Skulduggery wouldn’t let himself be seen with it.

They’d had a kind of argument over the paint colour, actually - Valkyrie had been damned if she’d had any more items of black that her family could gossip about, nice as the colour was, and Skulduggery had agreed… Before insisting she repaint the small bike a classic, Italian sky blue. It was almost as bad as his spare cars. Having had a decade or so to perfect her sulking skills, Valkyrie ended up winning the fight, but she’d had to call and threaten Skulduggery’s regular bodyshop worker to ensure she wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

Valkyrie brought the bike to a stop outside the house, popping the large visored helmet off and shaking her hair to dislodge it from the recesses of her dark jacket, using the air to smooth it down. Her stomach rumbled traitorously and she covered it with the helmet, walking up to the front door as she felt around her pockets for the magically ward-disarming key she kept on her person at all times. Finding it at last, she hooked her fingers around the football-insignia keychain - a gift from Alice on her fifteenth birthday in the never-ending War Of The Teams, since Alice had never shaken the stupid belief that Dublin City was a horrible team that her first boyfriend had instilled in her - and fished it out carefully, fitting it into the lock. It glowed to signal that yes, she had the right key and no, Skulduggery wasn’t going to come and swoop down on her thinking that he was being burgled.

A voice called from the dark hallway as she stepped through the door.

“Valkyrie, hello. We’ll be ready to go in just a moment.”

Following the sound of the deep, velvety voice Valkyrie arrived in one of the many living rooms to see the sight of Skulduggery slipping his arms through a crisp, clean shirt, deftly buttoning it up and donning his jacket once more. He cocked his head, seeing her questioning look. “Just spilt some caustic acid - I was experimenting with some engraving. Don’t look at me like that, I haven’t harmed the surfaces.”

Valkyrie scowled, but it her mood was already improving. That was, until the words in what he’d actually said had processed.

“We’re going out? What? Why?”

“I’m sure I’ve already told you this. After all, why else would you be here?”

Valkyrie folded her arms over her stomach, then dropped the bulbous helmet on a nearby sofa from her hand when it got in the way.

“I came here to look for food. I’m starving, and I’ve just come from a visit from my parents.”

If Skulduggery had eyes, they’d be twinkling smugly.

“And why would I, a dead man who hasn’t been in possession of a stomach of a stomach for hundreds of years, have a better stocked larder than a well put together bachelor in her mid thirties? Or, bachelorette,” he added thoughtfully, as Valkyrie walked past him and began rifling through her cupboards in this house instead. He carried on talking, apparently oblivious to the fact that she’d walked off mid-conversation.

“In fact, I’m almost certain you scheduled a ‘work holiday’ specifically for this case- pack your toothbrush, it’s going to be a long one, I’m afraid. Metaphorically, of course. It’s not an actual holiday, unfortunately. I’ve tried and I’ve tried but Ghastly _refuses_ to send us to the Bahamas for reconnaissance-“

Valkyrie froze.

“What?”

“It’s the selkie trafficking case, remember? Lots of paperwork. Lots of scumbags. Not very much of the fun stuff.”

“So no punching bad guys?”

“No, just good old fashioned detecting.”

Valkyrie remembered now.

“Selkies, you say?”

Skulduggery sighed in mock annoyance. He had a tendency to tell her things when she wasn’t there, or wasn’t listening, or even when she was crashed at the flat and then implying that he’d been helpful and considerate and would’t repeat himself. On the plus side it made Valkyrie a good listener, and if she didn’t know him better she would assume it was some wise trick to teach her good detecting skills, like in the old cheesy nineties kung fu movies. But she knew he was really just too unused to having a long term partner that didn’t end up dying screaming - one he trusted. Valkyrie had long since surpassed the mark of short-term partner, coworker or even friend and was now to her knowledge and that of her circle of acquaintances Skulduggery’s only long-term ‘relationship’ past his death. In a way - in many ways - it was brilliant, him and her against the world, but in others… Well. It sometimes got difficult. Valkyrie had sworn not to succumb to ‘forty year old brat syndrome’ as she’d termed sorcerer’s adolescence, but it seemed she’d already lost the fight.

She _was_ looking forward to meeting the selkies, though.

-

Valkyrie sat eating a sandwich she’d made in the Bentley whilst Skulduggery navigated the misted up rural roads and tried not to project an air of too much distaste whilst a CD of string quartet music played over the sound of her eating. She knew it was partly because of his nannying of the car, but also because of her choice of sandwich fillings. For someone who’d been raised before breakfast was invented and for whom sandwich meant ‘full roast squashed between doorstops of bread’ rather than ‘chicken and mayo cardboard slivers’, Skulduggery was squeamish about her combination of strawberry preserve, salted beef, fried chicken and gherkin wedges.

“It’s a nasty case,” Skulduggery said, his voice a little louder over the sound of tearing bread and plucking violin strings.

“Hmmmph?” Valkyrie was enjoying the sandwich too much to even try and pretend to hold on to some dignity. She was starving, and this was her favourite comfort food.

“I _said_ , it’s a nasty case we’re embarking on, Valkyrie.”

“Yeah, definitely, I just… Hold on.” Valkyrie made windmilling motions with her hands to stop Skulduggery talking as she finished the sandwich carefully. Finally after reaching her twenties Skulduggery had accepted that yes, she was an adult, and yes, she had enough fine motor control to not spray food all over the beloved Bentley, but she still had to bring old-fashioned handkerchief-sized sandwich wrappings to form a makeshift table cloth every time she ate here. Valkyrie opened the passenger window and shook the fabric square out, balling it up amidst Skulduggery’s tuts and stuffing it in her pocket. She swallowed her last bite and took a deep breath.

“This is the trafficking case, right? Magical mail order brides and such.”

Skulduggery’s head was tilted at a quizzical angle. It happened rarely enough that Valkyrie felt a happy frisson - especially in his own car whilst he was explaining their own case.

“I’m not quite sure I follow. I didn’t think mail services shipped live beings. Dead ones, certainly; I have a story about that happening. It’s pretty funny, now that I think about it-“

Valkyrie held her hands up again, a look of disgust on her face.

“Eurgh! No, I don’t want to know. Mail order brides are a form of prostitution, I guess.”

Skulduggery nodded. “The oldest and noblest profession. I suppose I can fill in the blanks myself. Yes, our first lead is going to be an woman who was a selkie, although I suppose she’s spent so long out of the seas that calling her an ex-selkie would be appropriate. She works freelances for sanctuaries all over the world; care, conservation and occasionally culling creatures that mortals don’t know about, like selkies, sirens, hell hounds - you’ve faced those, in a way - and the octopus people, of course.” He finished off by nodding solemnly.

Valkyrie felt her nose wrinkling in disbelief and then caught herself in the lefthand mirror. For a second she saw a flash of Carol and Crystal in that face, and so she stopped at once.

“You’re seriously not telling me that after all this time, octopus people are actually real. You played that joke on me when I was what, twelve?”

“I assure you the only joke was letting you _think_ that I was joking.”

“The greatest mind in many a room spends his time keeping tabs on elaborate practical jokes, japes and schemes. You heard it hear first, folks.”

“Nice use of the word ‘japes’-“

“Thank you, I thought so-“

“And thank you for the compliment.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Yes, it was. Now, Perdita and her wife aren’t the most loquacious of people, and they’re treated a little bigotedly by the magical population at large - they’re civil rights activists at heart. So you’re going to have to be your usual, sweet and sensitive self as always. Just letting you know.”

Valkyrie looked uncomfortably towards Skulduggery’s bleached cheekbones, but his attention was back on the road, sarcastic back and forth over and done with as he overtook a twelve-wheeler truck in near total darkness.

“Because they’re, you know - because they’re both gay?”

There was a pause as the Bentley drew up beside the truck’s front and the driver leant out his window, shaking his fat red fist in front of his fat red face and swearing, very loudly, in a mixture of English and Irish. It was as creative as one could expect from a trucker.

“What? No, of course not, that’s not even a-“ Skulduggery tutted. “Never mind. No, we mages aren’t susceptible to many taboos, but bigotry to those we deem pitiful is one of the worst - mortals, magical creatures, hippies, zombies. That sort of thing.”

Valkyrie nodded and then caught herself, snorting with laughter. “So you’re saying that this Perdita woman and her - partner are like Care of Magical Creatures professors from Harry Potter.”

In the past ten years or so Skulduggery had reminded Valkyrie, many times, that referencing a children’s fiction series when talking about sorcery was immature, but it hadn’t stopped her dragging him to one of the marathons of the digitally-remastered rereleases of the films that she had been invited to back at uni - her science fiction and film class being the only thing that she turned up to rather than letting the hard-reset reflection substitute for.

The arguments about which houses the two of them would have been sorted into (Skulduggery maintained that the Sorting Hat would deem him unsortable due to his being dead and that he would have been able to join the Headless Horsemen if he so pleased whilst Valkyrie vehemently accused him of being a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin) had fuelled many a bantering argument on long car journeys.

Today, however, Skulduggery merely gave her a long-suffering _look_ — the kind that managed to curdle your stomach juices and wither your smile without even the benefit of glaring eyeballs.

“As I was saying, Valkyrie, they’re not treated very well, so Perdita and Penelope are very defensive woman a lot of the time, that’s all.”

Valkyrie gave a mock-salute.

“Sounds good to me. Can I get another sandwich? Or two, or three. Or just a coffee. I think anger makes me hungry.”

“Anger just tends to make me more dashing than usual, and more witty. And no, you can’t make another one of your dastardly concoctions. Even centuries without having to prepare food hasn’t stopped me from realising what a freak you are.”

“No more than you!” Valkyrie answered cheerfully, leaning back in her seat and settling in the for the ride.


End file.
